


Countless Stars, Countless Lives

by Angelic_Hellraiser



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, F/M, Possessive Kylo Ren, Shameless Smut, Smut Tease, The Road AU, reylo child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Hellraiser/pseuds/Angelic_Hellraiser
Summary: My collection of Star Wars drabbles and one-shots.





	1. Table of Contents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **OTHER PLACES TO FIND ME:  
> **  
>  **Reylo Tumblr:** [ReyloisBlessed](https://reyloisblessed.tumblr.com/)  
>  **Personal Tumblr:** [angelic-hellraiser](https://angelic-hellraiser.tumblr.com/)  
>  **Twitter:** [A_Hellraiser](https://twitter.com/A_Hellraiser)  
>  **deviantART:** [AngelicHellraiser](https://www.deviantart.com/angelichellraiser)  
>  **Instagram:** [angelichellraiser](https://www.instagram.com/angelichellraiser/)  
>  **FFN:** [Obsidian Lullaby](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4761457/)  
>  **Wattpad:** [AngelicHellraiser](https://www.wattpad.com/user/AngelicHellraiser)
> 
> **PLEASE BE SURE TO READ ALL THE WARNINGS BEFORE EVERY PIECE! THANK YOU!**

 

 

 **Unpredictable**  [first writings / character studies of kylo ren & rey / drabbles]

 

 **He Will Worship Her**  [smut tease / canonverse / ahch-to]

 

 **Pretty Brown Eyes**  [30s!au / drama fluff / drabble]

 

 **Boundless Love** [the road!au / tragic ending] **!!! NEW !!!**

 

 **My Filthy Scavenger** [shameless smut / canonverse / post tlj]  **!!! NEW !!!**


	2. Unpredictable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her presence echoes to him, singing along the strings of the Force like a bow willing music to his ears. She laments in the darkness, the warmth of her flesh made ice beneath that scorching sun as she walks those pale dunes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Touching my toes to the water and trying out this ship. My first drabbles into Reylo, partner pieces for both Ben and Rey. 
> 
> **Rating** PG-13 / T  
>  **Word Count:** 720  
>  **World:** Canonverse  
>  **Canon Timeline:** Based after TFA.  
>  **Warnings:** nothing much aside from some possessive Kylo.

**KYLO REN // POV**

 

* * *

 

 

Galaxies and dying voids whirl around him, a symphony of potential, a glaring howl of existence. This place is hungry, selfish. He knows those emotions well. The mask concealing his face reflects in the glass of the window, metal and ghost, as the scene before him explodes with light.

Her presence echoes to him, singing along the strings of the Force like a bow willing music to his ears. She laments in the darkness, the warmth of her flesh made ice beneath that scorching sun as she walks those pale dunes.

Loneliness. Need.  _Anger._

Her memories fill him, tempt him. She is so delightfully chaotic in all her pieces as she seeks her truth.  _And that anger._ He licks his lips, steadying his breath. His mask feels heavy, too heavy, and his fingers itch to wreck cities.

The silence mocks him.

He could possess her, twist the decency out of her chest like the ruthless coils of a snake. She would look lovely painted in his shade of black. Desire permeates his body, kindling a fire in his bones he was sure had been snuffed out. But fires like this one never snuff out, do they?

Because fires burn Light.

His hands curl into fists at his sides and his spine draws taut. There are some matters one cannot deny, training or not. Resistance breeds ugly things, things he buries deep, but even the crevices of a soul cannot hide the truth forever. His truth.

It calls to him, like her music, that vibrating timbre almost pleading. Or perhaps, it is he that is pleading.

_Light is weakness. Darkness is power._

Though even those words tasted like a lie in the presence of her. Fires cast light. Stars cast light. Without Light, Darkness has no form, no purpose.

_You are afraid you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader._

He shoves the thoughts away, not wanting to entertain them. The Supreme Leader will sense his unease, his questions. No need to garner any unsought attention. Simple obedience… but perhaps that isn’t enough anymore.

Power answers to no one. That is what his master promised.  _Master…_

What is power if not unpredictable.

A decision flowers in his mind, quickening his heart, and he grins. He will find her and open this Pandora’s Box of secrets.  _He will be unpredictable._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**REY // POV**

 

* * *

 

 

The loss of life echoes over the beams of existence like a shuddering quake of agony and she stumbles, falls, elbows biting the ground and hands covering her tear-stricken eyes. It hurts. Everything. Hurts!

Screams. Chaos. Nothing.

Can a world actually end in white? Can such light make the shadows flee? No more definition, no more shape. Only white. Then  _nothing_.

Guilt laces over her bones as a spider’s silk, twisting, binding, but not her guilt. Wreathing around her in possessive waves, she tastes the familiar sharpness of him. The man who desires so much to be more than his grandfather. To be forever shadow, casting as long and as far as the edges of time.

She licks her lips, tasting the salt of her own tears and… something.

Behind her lids, the vision of his kneeling form before her, black helm tilted up to her accusing glare. The smooth hiss of metal as he removes the heavy façade to reveal a bizarrely human face, tender, unsettlingly tender.  _Unseemly._  She hated it—sought for it. Eyes almost black yet livened amber by the lights. But, she thinks, it was more wasn’t it?

That stare. That ghost of a smile. No metal. Only warm flesh, beating blood. This monster is human.  _Human._

Maybe that’s why he walks behind his shadow; a reversed image, an aversion to the senses. The monster he so desperately craves to be nothing more than Light rendered corporeal, a series of curves and edges marked by darkness.

He calls to her, a steady thrum of smoke along the veins of the Force. Corporeal. Human. Something inside her answers, chanting, beating as red and hot as the blood in his own heart.

She swallows, frightened, but not of him. After all, she’s crept along those stygian corridors now, too, possibilities made endless in that kind of blackness. And a chest—a  _Pandora’s Box_ —teasing at her fingertips.

What exists in that forever? A thread? A possibility?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE SOME FEEDBACK!  
> ** **CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOME!**  
>    
> 


	3. He Will Worship Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey touches his face, scraping her nails over his scar, marking him again. His growl is immediate, low and forbidden, the seductive touch of dark earth, the vulgar scratch of thorns. He tastes like bitter heat, all musk and agitation as his lips slant over hers, suckling as if a child starved. She indulges him only to tattoo his lower lip with her teeth, a surprised grunt vibrating from his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Shameless smut tease of Reylo on Ahch-To. Written before TLJ release in theaters.
> 
>  **Rating** M  
>  **Word Count:** 1,219  
>  **World:** Canonverse  
>  **Canon Timeline:** Based after TFA.  
>  **Warnings:** obvious sexual elements

Isn’t this always how it ends? She finds him in the night, grasping at rough fabric, sharp ridges, pent up rage defined in broad shoulders and taut muscles. Glittering eyes like velvet ash quickened by hard embers.

Where did it begin? Perhaps in between the savage heartbeats as they clashed. Maybe sooner. Maybe the moment his hulking silhouette found her in the green and sunlight, breathless and invasive—a beast cloaked in violence with a fiery blade at her cheek.

_How dare he._

Rey touches his face, scraping her nails over his scar, marking him again. His growl is immediate, low and forbidden, the seductive touch of dark earth, the vulgar scratch of thorns. He tastes like bitter heat, all musk and agitation as his lips slant over hers, suckling as if a child starved. She indulges him only to tattoo his lower lip with her teeth, a surprised grunt vibrating from his throat.

His fingers clasp over her wrists, yanking them above her head and whirling her around, her back pressing to his chest. She plants her feet to pivot again, but his other hand stops her, fingers digging possessively into her hip. The sensation drives the heat from below her navel down through her thighs and she squeezes her legs together, mouth thinning to a defiant line.

His breath tickles her shoulder, her neck; then, a devilish flick of tongue just below her earlobe. “Always so willful.”

Her teeth snap shut, begging for his skin to bruise.

The hot pads of his fingertips glide under her shirt, arousing a hitch in her breath, and she wriggles against him. She can hurt him, easily end this game with one swift backwards kick, though she won’t. She’d rather bite and claw and mark him until he remembers exactly who it is he belongs to.

A hungry moan falls from her lips when his hand closes around her breast. He nibbles at her neck in the most delicious rhythm of teeth and tongue as he works his fingers over her nipple, teasing until it aches to the touch. She pushes into him, forcing him back a step and he releases her hands to take her other hip.

She bows forward as he jerks her into him and he takes the advantage, lifting her shirt up to her shoulders and raking kisses along her back. The cold of the rock sends an exquisite chill down her spine from her breasts and she arches forward, throwing her head back and angling her bum against him.

His own breath hitches and she can feel him growing feverish under all that black. She glances at him over her shoulder and his nostrils flare, eyes half-lidden with need and mouth parted over gritted teeth. Those lips—shamefully evocative of his most secret wants.

They always give him away.   

She stands, letting her shirt drape back over her chest, and sliding her hands down his hips, firm and unrelenting at his thighs as she pulls him into her. He leans forward, inhaling her hair, her neck. If he wants to take her this way, he’ll have to fight her for it.

With a single spin of her heel, she knocks him off balance and they are on the ground, her legs bracketing his waist. He exhales a pained huff and glares daggers up at her. She hikes an eyebrow at him in turn, rolling her tongue over her canines as she rotates her hips, daring beyond measure when it comes to driving him into madness. If nowhere else—the edge of sanity brings out the darkness in her.

With a flick of her wrists, his arms anchor above his head, pinned by her will alone. He blows a wisp of hair from his forehead, gaze whetted to black steel. She surveys him languidly, her hands trailing fire down his neck and chest. He should really reconsider wearing all these layers.

Kylo’s teeth click shut, a snarl forming his mouth as he reads her thoughts.

She grins, tilting her head thoughtfully and pressing her tongue to her cheek.  She remembers how it was the first time they made love, raining and wild in the lightning as she shivered against him. She’d been unsure then, as unsure as he was.

But not anymore.

She begins with her hair, releasing the buns slowly, torturously. He watches, his mouth a hard line of anticipation and the tendons in his neck drawn stiff. She shouldn’t be so cruel, but seeing him below her, seeing the power she can wield over him summons a heat so deep in her bones she cannot ignore it.

Her hair fans out over her shoulders, longer now, and his tongue flits along his lower lip, reddened by desperate teeth. She combs her fingers through it casually, peering down at him. The sudden pulse of heat at her core is unexpected as he growls against her hold, his black gloves whining with the clench of his fists.

He’s magnificent like this, all feral anger and stormy eyes.

She leans over and tests the muscles of his arms, firm, unforgiving. His glare drifts down to her wandering hands and back to her face, a huff of impatience leaving his lungs. It tickles at her cheeks as she bends close, but not close enough for a kiss. He jerks upward and falls back, exasperated.

“Let me go.” A deliciously dark tone.

She bites into his neck before whispering in his ear. “No.”  

“Rey!” He exhales in a rush, his back arching.  _Let me go!_  his mind snarls.

She hovers over him, shaking her head.  _You want the lead? Take it from me._

His eyes widen at the challenge and she sits up, removing her shirt with agonizing slowness. It takes its warmth with it and she shivers at the coldness of the air, her nipples sensitive to the breeze. Kylo stares at them, hypnotized, and she feels a push, her hold on his body weakening.  

She reinforces her power, earning a frenzied rumble from his throat.  _Try harder_ , she coaxes.

“Rey—

She covers his mouth with hers, swallowing her name and he bucks against her, caught between the desire to take and the inevitable surrender to her torture. The texture of his surcoat creates an exquisite friction that draws a surprised moan from her lips and Kylo presses forward, his tongue demanding—begging—as he tastes her fully.

Images flow into her mind, provocative images of him worshipping her, savoring her in ways that rouse a blush to her cheeks. His head between her thighs, hair tickling her skin and tongue doing things to make her scream unabashedly, eliciting incoherent strings of words and his name. Always his name, like a prayer lifted from her lips for him. Only for him.

She can feel the ghostly touches of the memory and her insides clench. Then, she slips, her hold on him loosening, and he has her, his arms chaining around her and they are rolling, his heavy body pinning her to the ground. She looks hazily up at him, his chest heaving and the anger in him brightening, dimming, flickering as a solitary candle.

“You’re getting better.” He comments huskily.

Rey pouts at him. “Cheater.”

He smiles. “No such thing as cheating. Not with you.”

And he worshipped her. Oh, how he worshipped her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ME SOME FEEDBACK!  
> **   
>  **CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOME!**   
>    
> 


	4. Pretty Brown Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She glowered at his silhouette from several paces away, hands balling into fists. This was her story and she’d be damned if some gumshoe with pretty brown eyes was stealing her score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** A fun little piece inspired by one of [Obiwanisbae's](https://obiwanisbae.tumblr.com/tagged/mine) gorgeous fan edits of a 1930s au [[here](https://obiwanisbae.tumblr.com/post/172937485169/reylo-30sau-newbie-journalist-rey-meets)].
> 
>  **Rating** PG-13 / T  
>  **Word Count:** 757  
>  **World:** 1930s au  
>  **Canon Timeline:** N/A  
>  **Warnings:** Mild Cursing

The Wall Street Crash had hit hard, harder than Rey’s new boss was willing to admit. Poe Dameron, recent widower and owner of the Manhattan Tattler, did well enough to sell fifty newspapers a week. Five cents a pop, mind you; not that anyone had even two nickels to rub together.

Most of the published content rattled on about politics and foreign tensions, anyway. Same old, same old.

Those things were not Rey’s intended score. After all, she was one of the only three journalists working with the declining publication and she meant to show Mr. Dameron he had  _not_  made a mistake hiring her… no matter how obnoxious she had been when she walked in – uninvited, but that’s not important – and demanded a job.

She’d show him. You bet she would. She’d score the greatest story Manhattan had ever seen. A story of crime, intrigue and betrayal: the recent death of the notorious Unkar Plutt, better known as _Nine Lives_ on the darker side of the streets. The crime lord who got his start in the illegal casinos of Vegas and rose to fame after murdering his own boss to take his place.

Not only would she gain a reputation, but she would also help Mr. Dameron’s failing newspaper. After she was done, the publication would be the diamond of the press.  

Her only problem? The tall drink of water currently standing at the crime scene sporting a deck of Luckies and a flashy badge. The tip of his cigarette lit his face, highlighting its long angles in a dull orange glow against the night.

_Who was he and what on earth was he doing here?_

She glowered at his silhouette from several paces away, hands balling into fists. This was her story and she’d be damned if some gumshoe with pretty brown eyes was stealing her score. 

_She’d be damned._

Swallowing her aggravation, Rey walked quietly up to his side. “Excuse me, what exactly is your business here, Mr…?”

The man peered down at her, smoke curling around his face. “I could ask you the same question. What’s someone like you doing wandering around in the city late at night?” he asked, ignoring her inquiry of his name.

Her hackles rose. “I am grateful for your concern –

“It isn’t concern.” he corrected her in a dulcet tone, void of any emotion. 

She inhaled a steadying breath. “Well, this is… my crime scene, so why don’t you fade off somewhere else?”

He made a point to plant his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and inhaling a long drag on the butt in his mouth. 

Rey’s jaw popped. 

Her eyebrow twitched.

“Think you’re going to solve this crime all by yourself, do you?” he needled.

Her chin lifted unconsciously. “What makes you think I can’t?”

He exhaled, a long wisp of smoke twirling around them. “Because it’s mine.”

She huffed. “I hardly see your name on it! And besides, you’re sulking around here at night –

“With a badge.” he added between her outburst.

–  same as me!”

“ _You_  are a kitten in a wolf pit.”

Rey was seeing red now. “If you think you’re going to steal this from me, think again!”

He suddenly held a plastic bag out in front of her with something inside. Before she could see what it was, he yanked it back and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “I already have. And you should get back home before the wolves catch you.” He tilted his head as he surveyed her a moment longer. “A word of advice. If you’re going to snatch this case from me, you’ll have to be more…  _punctual_.”

She frowned at his sudden change of demeanor, the coolness of him warming a little. Was he patronizing her, or challenging her? She abruptly blushed at the latter possibility, noticing for the first time how his wide-set mouth, despite its rigid frown, still retained a plush softness at its edges. 

 _He has the mouth of a poet_ , she thought.

Then, he strode past her without so much as a glance behind him and she groaned in frustration, biting her tongue and stamping her foot as the anger came flooding back. Whatever he had taken must have meant something important. Now, it was out of her reach. But there could be more, things he had missed. 

Rey allowed herself to hope.

At the end of the alleyway, he called over his shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Oh, he was most definitely challenging her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** If I get enough interest in this, I might continue it, but know that I have 3 large Reylo projects right now. **  
>    
>  **PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ME SOME FEEDBACK!  
> ** **CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOME!**  
>    
> 


	5. Boundless Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The love for a child is a boundless love. It is a love that transcends the baser instincts of human fear and insecurity. It is a love that protects, that cherishes, an undying sentiment of eternal warmth nothing in this universe can tear asunder. Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I bawled all the way through this piece. You can also find it posted [here](https://reyloisblessed.tumblr.com/post/179412569042/title-boundless-love-theme-the-road-au-reylo) on my Reylo Tumblr.
> 
>  **Rating** M  
>  **Word Count:** 3,925  
>  **World:** The Road AU / Modern Dystopian Environments  
>  **Canon Timeline:** N/A  
>  **Warnings:** cannibalism mention, cannibal attackers, explicit blood  & gore descriptions, major character death, bittersweet ending (you will likely cry)

Olive green–the color of his mother’s eyes. 

Such a vibrant color. 

Ben stares into his son’s wide, questioning gaze for a long time, memories of a lush woodland flitting across his mind, easing the weariness of his soul, making him think of  _her_ again. Her lovely cheeks, so often rosy with the heat of the sun and her chestnut hair, rich and earthy in the hazy evening forest as he had chased her through the trees. 

_Rey._

Her name settles slowly into his chest, piercing his heart and he flinches, visibly shaken.

“What is it daddy?”

His immediate impulse is to lie, to tell his son that it’s nothing– _just the cold_ –only, he doesn’t. Instead he scoots over to the child’s side in the cramped cab of the semi truck and takes him into his arms, needing his warmth, his closeness. The boy’s scrawny limbs circle his chest at once and he tightens the embrace, the painful lump forming in his throat driving the blade in his heart a little deeper.

But he swallows it down, swallows all of it down and locks it away. 

In the quiet moments of his dreams it will come back to haunt him. And so be it. If dreams are all he has, then at the very least, it’s something of her. 

His son presses a cool cheek to his neck and whispers, “You were thinking of momma.”

Closing his eyes, Ben holds his chin steady. “Sleep.” he says. “We wake early tomorrow.”

“I want to see her.”

His hands begin to shake. “Sleep.” What little command he has in his voice is diminishing.

“But I’m scared.” the boy protests, hugging the wolf plush he carries. It was a gift from his late mother’s collection. They had left the rest behind, but the wolf–well, they couldn’t leave  _that one_  behind.

He exhales slowly, attempting to lessen the aching ball of tears in his throat. “I’ll be watching over you.” 

“Will you sing for me? The song mommy used to sing?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Endless, dirty grey. Miles of cars, crumbling highway, smoke plumes from distant cities. Cannibalism. He must always worry about that. And rape. What the monsters walking this dead world would do to his son–he would murder them first. As many as he can get his hands on. He will do whatever it takes.  _Whatever it takes._ **Even if that means killing son before they can get their hands on him.**

They need to find shoes again.

“How many people do you think are still alive?” the boy asks.

Ben glances down at him. “In the world? Not many.”

The child ponders this, a familiar scowl wrinkle appearing between his brows.  _Han’s scowl wrinkle._  He shoves the thought away quickly and takes his son’s hand.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s possibly December, but the world has grown so cold that it’s hard to tell the months apart now. He hasn’t kept a calendar in years. Maybe five, maybe six. It’s been three since–

–he scrubs harder at his scalp, the icy water from the muddy stream summoning goose flesh down his neck. Ben does what he can to work out the grime, then checks on his son. The boy had demanded he wash his own hair, so he leaves him to it for a while.

Walking out to the clearing, he checks the pistol he carries, a small revolver with a rubber grip. Only two bullets left. Two is all they’ll need if the worst should happen. 

He prays it doesn’t.

“Done!” his son calls.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She’s here again, in his dreams. She makes love to him, smiling in her soft little way as she plants kisses down his chest, watching him with her lively forest eyes. He takes her swiftly, holding to her as a man lost at sea, murmuring a string of dirty promises into her ear until she comes undone below him. He nuzzles her neck, smelling her, tasting her, drinking as much of her in as he can before what he knows will inevitably come. 

It’s only when her hands fall from around his neck to cradle his face and her lips press tenderly to his forehead that he realizes…

_… he’s crying._

Ben wakes with a start, coughing so violently he vomits. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I had a bad dream.” his son confesses.

“It’s a good thing.” Ben asserts quickly. “It means you’re still fighting, that you’re still alive.”

“Why?”

He looks out to the horizon; as dull and as lifeless as ever. “Because when you start to dream of the good things…”

Somewhere in the distance, he thinks he can hear laughter,  _her laughter_.

“What?” the boy presses.

“You should start to worry.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They finally find a pair shoes. For his son, of course. Ben doesn’t need a fresh set even if there are holes in the soles of his boots. He can manage just fine. 

It could be mid February now, but it’s impossible to tell. The days are short and the nights are longer than any he has ever experienced before. After the clocks had stopped on that fateful day, everything about the world had changed. Fires had consumed the forests and the cities. There had been chanting, killing, screams of judgement come.

But Rey had never faltered. If she were here now, she would take both the hand of her son and her husband, and they would walk on.

Ben recalls the night she had changed his life in a time so very different from this one. He remembers it clearly. He had been  _born_ that day in the light of her eyes. She’d found him with a gun barrel in his mouth, the cold taste of metal on his tongue, and she had  _slapped_ him. He smiles at the recollection, the terrified anger in her voice rising up from the depths of memory like the dawn. 

Before the cataclysm, before the empty grey death of the sky and the devastation of the world, he had found hope that night.  

His son suddenly motions to something in the distance. “What’s that?”

As he strains to see in the direction his son points, thunder rolls behind them. He can make out a mass of what appear to be utility poles, awkwardly leaning, strips of tangled power lines with–

His stomach lurches at the gory sight and he hastily snatches his son’s arm. “We’ll go another way.”

“But–”

“Now!” Ben hisses. “Get off the road!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re trying to make it to the coast. It’s a destination. Maybe an answer. He cannot know. Not anymore. The perception of his life has grown nebulous, unreliable. 

His only constant is the child sleeping in his arms.

Coughing raggedly, he leans his head back as he tries to find his own slumber… but it never comes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He murders a man today, a thief who tried to kill his son for the pack he carries. 

_They have only one bullet left._

The boy weeps for hours in his arms once they find safety under a collapsing overpass. It’s a cruel thing, showing this child the simplistic and vicious side of survival… and so very necessary.

“Why?” his son eventually whispers, his tiny voice broken by hiccups.  

The single syllable carries with it the weight of all the worlds that have come and gone. It brings a sad bitterness, an ending he knows all too well. The question is one which stems from the death of childhood. 

And he hates himself for it.

“I told you. I’ll kill anyone who touches you.” 

As if to console himself he kisses his son’s cheeks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Daddy. Daddy, wake up.”

He stirs.

“You were calling for momma, again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They shouldn’t have entered the house. He should have known better than to think it was abandoned. It was a mistake,  _his mistake_ … and possibly their last. 

Foul dishes are heaped atop the kitchen counters. The tacky brown filth that covers them makes his stomach churn uneasily and there is a smell, a very  _conspicuous_ smell that raises the hair on the back of his neck. Grimy insects skitter across the rancid heap and he stops his son before the boy can reach out and touch one of the plates.

“No!” he admonishes sharply.

“What’s that smell?”    

A low thump comes from the floor beneath them and the two abruptly freeze.

The following silence leaves them both trembling with anticipation and Ben’s eyes follow the old pattern of the linoleum until his eyes come to the wooden frame of a cellar door. His grip tightens on his son’s shoulders as a seed of thought takes root in his mind and grows like a poisonous vine, filling him with bloodcurdling fear.

_It can’t be true. What we’ve stumbled into can’t–_

The noise comes a second time, louder, more persistent–and a voice, a wail. “Please!” So utterly frail and weak. 

“Someone’s down there!” the boy whispers.

Ben pulls him toward the hallway, back the way they’d come. “We need to leave!”

“But there’s someone–”

Raucous laughter explodes from outside and the two are frozen again. Only this time, Ben knows they cannot escape. He breaks from his stupor and hastily drags his son up the stairs, the poor child whimpering all the way, and shoves him into the first open door he sees, slamming it shut behind them. 

It’s a bathroom… and the sink is clogged with blood. Various gutting tools lay strewn about the vanity and an emaciated body of a woman is propped up in the tub, naked, missing a leg. 

_A house of cannibals. Is this how their road ends?_

The boy whines lowly at the sight, hugging his wolf plush as if a crucifix and Ben’s heart plummets at the sound of the front door opening downstairs, the cadence of several feet entering and the subsequent snickering of guttural conversation. He swiftly clamps a hand over his son’s mouth, begging him for silence. The boy’s tears slip along his dirty fingers, painting clean tracks over his skin and he suddenly finds himself lost, everything in his mind disintegrating as he glares, wild and terrified, into his son’s round pleading eyes.

 _“You’re strong, Ben, no matter what you say.”_  Rey’s voice encourages him. A long forgotten memory from one of his less than redeemable moments.

 _Am I?_  he asks the the memory.  _Am I really?_ But that question doesn’t truly matter, does it?

One of them starts up the stairs–

–and his decision is made for him. 

Setting his jaw, Ben releases the boy’s mouth and takes him by the shoulders. “Don’t be afraid.” he strains, his voice crumbling. 

“Daddy?”

He kneels down and takes the child’s hand, whispering. “Remember what I told you. If I can’t protect you…” Opening the boy’s fingers, he places the gun in his tiny hand.

“No!” The blatant terror on the child’s face shines, draining the last evidence of color from his cheeks. 

Ben’s heart twists in agony. “You have to do it.”

_Because I… I can’t._

Tears glitter down his son’s cheeks. “Daddy?” 

“Stop crying. You have to be brave.”  _Unlike me…_  

“But…”

The steps grow closer and Ben’s stomach sinks, the sour emptiness he feels wrenching at him like a savage animal. He stares at his son, into those beautiful olive eyes, and takes the gun from his tiny hand. He won’t let them have their fun. He won’t let them bring suffering onto his boy. Aiming in front of him, he cocks the hammer.

“Will I see you again?” the child trembles, staring into the cold black abyss of the barrel. 

Ben releases a strangled sob, his hands shaking violently as memories assail him, images of  _her_ face, her smile–his son’s same smile–and her sweet voice; his mother’s stillness–his son’s same stillness–and that scowl wrinkle. His father’s… Father. Son.  _My son._

“I have to do this.” he grates out, barely able to breath. “I can’t let them. I have to–”

A crash sounds from downstairs.

“What the fuck?!” someone howls.

“Stop ‘em!” another follows. 

Pounding feet.

Fading.

_Fading._

Ben drops the weapon and a gasp leaves his throat. He creeps over to the door and peeks out. Empty. Quiet. Turning back to the boy, he snatches his hand and brings him close. “Follow me and  _don’t let go_  of my hand.”

They run… as hard and as fast as they can. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days pass. 

And one would think the south to be warmer.

“I love you, daddy.”

Ben looks down at his son, tucked close and staring up at him with a hollow, hungry face. The statement sounds deeper, less childlike than before and he feels anger again. Anger at himself. At the world. He coughs, bringing the boy’s head to his chest and pulling him impossibly closer. 

 

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t surprise him when it happens. He has sensed it for a long time, though he’s deliberately denied it any thought. It’s deeper too, dragging up through his sternum like a coil of barbed wire.  _And he had coughed up blood earlier, hadn’t he…_   

Glancing over at the tight ball beneath their shared blanket, Ben sighs heavily, the exhaustion in his bones leeching away any fire from his emotions. He’s too tired. His face contorts in anguish, but there are no tears, no moisture left in him to spare. _Just too goddamn tired._

He swallows dryly, his heart aching. It should be her here now, not him. Their son deserves strength.

_Not weakness._

* * *

 

 

The coughing worsens.

Blood–it’s become a common taste in his mouth. He’s on his knees, forehead pressed to the icy floor and the grit biting into his skin. He feels his son come to his side, trying to pull him up to a sitting position. He turns and sees that the boy is shaking his head, a wild look of fear in his gaze. Another attack of coughs rip at his throat and he spits crimson, the fresh liquid staining his chin. 

“No!” 

Cold fingers push against his open lips as the child tries to stop the sound, as if his simple touch can will it all away. But he knows. Ben can see it etched into his face.  _The creeping inevitability._  And so the last vestige of innocence dies within his precious boy, his son. 

Ben’s heart beats painfully and he brings his hand over the boy’s, pressing a tender kiss to his fingers.  _But I’m not done just yet._

 

 

* * *

 

 

They reach the sea. Though, it isn’t blue like they had hoped.

“It’s ugly.” his son opines.

He frowns, the disappointment evident in his voice. “I know. I wish it was blue for you.”

 _Rey had loved the blue of the sea._   

Suddenly, his vision goes dark and he senses his body collapsing, his pack falling from his shoulders and his knees connecting mercilessly with the crumbling concrete of the road. Blackness swirls around him and he thinks he hears laughter again. His body floats, leaving him wondering if he’s fallen in the water.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

It isn’t laughter it’s…

“Daddy!”

He coughs. 

He coughs until he vomits blood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _It isn’t fucking fair._  None of it is fair. 

He grabs desperately at the blanket draped over his chilling body as his son hovers above him in the hazy gloom of the night sky, a fire dancing beside them and catching in his eyes. Ben reaches up, cradling his son’s cheek. The boy must have helped him to the beach and started a fire. The blanket isn’t theirs either.  _He’d found it_ , Ben realizes with a touch of pride.  _A survivor just like his mother._  

A cup of water is brought to his lips and he drinks. Dirty, awful tasting. He chokes, but swallows it down. 

“You’ll get better.” 

Ben closes his eyes, willing back tears. “You know that’s not true.”

“You have to.”

 _Why did fate take Rey, their pillar, their strength?_ Why would it leave this precious child a broken man scarcely able to hold his own self together, let alone raise this child in a bitter, unforgiving world with no hope? He is a failure. He was never any real father. How could he be? What has he given to this boy other than misery and grief? Ben couldn’t protect his innocent heart… and now, he won’t be able to protect his life.

His hand wavers, but the boy holds it fast to his cheek, unwilling to let it fall. “You promised you would never leave me.”

Ben’s eyes clamp down tighter. “I know.” Tears flow freely, down his cheeks, through his beard. “I’m sorry.”

“Take me with you.”

Ben bites down on his tongue, unable to speak as he swallows back rattled sobs. 

“Please? Please, daddy.” His son is now crying, too.

“You have to keep going, take the gun with you. You have to leave me and keep moving south. You have to find good people, but you can’t take chances. Do you understand?”

“Dad–”

“Tell me you understand.” Ben says unevenly, opening his eyes and glaring at the boy.

He sees sadness, complete and utter sadness, and it shatters his heart. 

“I understand.” the words come out hollow.

Ben’s fingers curl into hooks and the boy’s cheek dimples with his fingertips. The fire beside them crackles and he nuzzles his father’s hand, smearing dampness into Ben’s palm as he curls up beside him and settles on his chest, unwilling to ever let him go. Ben encircles him with a single weak arm, breathing heavily from the effort. 

Silence settles around them like a veil and they both ignore it, unwilling to let its finality sink in. Ben finds it harder to take air in as the tears build in his throat, as he pulls his son tighter and the fear blossoms in his veins, but he finally finds the will to say the truth in his heart. All of it. “I love you. I loved you from the moment I held you. You were so perfect, a god in my arms. When you looked up at me, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

The boy’s hiccups against him and buries his face deeper into his chest. 

Darkness threatens the edges of his vision, but he continues on. “You have your mother’s strength. Never forget that, okay?” 

A small nod. Then: “Will we still be able to talk to each other?” 

The question catches Ben by surprise and he finds a conviction rising in him so fierce he trembles. “I will find my way to you when you need me.”

“Do you promise?”

Doubt torments him, but he refuses its call. If he could do nothing else in life, he  _will_ do this single thing thereafter. He will find his way back, somehow, and he will be there for his son. “You have my whole heart and I swear it. I will be with you, always.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He dreams of her for the last time, his sweet beloved, with her vibrant eyes and sun-touched skin. They are sitting by the sea, the white foam of the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs, the endless deep blue stretching into forever on the horizon. 

He had forgotten that he’d fallen asleep in her arms that day. She toys with his hair, lazily tracing the shell of his ear as she smiles down at him and he swears he’s looking up at heaven itself. 

That was the first time he told her he loved her.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy lies next to his father the whole day in the bone-chilling cold, unwilling to leave his side, but he knows… 

The hollow of his cheeks have gone grey, like the empty sky above them, and his lips match the color of the foamy waves on the desolate beach. The boy had lived on the small hope that his father would open his eyes one last time, that he could look up and see the strength and safety that had kept him alive all these years– 

–yet the face he had known all his life remains empty, lifeless.

It’s a jarring sight, one that brands the mind with the most basic of understandings: this is death. It cannot be fixed. It cannot be taken back. It simply  _is_.

He tries talking to his father for a while, telling him of old things he remembers, old dreams, but the silence grows too heavy and he gives up, looking forlornly at his father’s wedding band. He removes it, turning it over in his fingers and watching as the dim light catches on the faded gold.

“Please don’t be mad.” he whispers as he pockets the keepsake, running his fingers over it one final time. 

It takes another hour before he can cover the face of his father with the blanket, unsure if he wants to keep looking at that empty expression, or if he’s too scared never to see it again. He cries and the tears hurt this time, bitter tears, he decides… and he hates them.

But he’s too tired to care, either. 

He ponders on this emotion, hating it, too.

Eventually, he walks away, his pack over his shoulder and the gun snugly in his hand. He pauses to look back one final time, the throb in his chest swelling and coiling around his ribs like a vice, suffocating him. He refuses to cry anymore. He’s strong like his mother. He wants to believe that, because his father said so. 

And so he walks on, not looking back again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t make it far along the beach before he sees the silhouette of an approaching couple. The hair on the back of his neck rises and he draws the pistol close to his heart. They come closer and he notes the large gun in the man’s hand. It’s a weapon he’s never seen before with a long double barrel and a wooden stock. He raises his pistol.

“Easy.” the man says, putting up his free hand. “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

The boy’s hands shake. “Who are you?”

The man’s companion, a woman with long ebony hair, steps forward. “We’ve been following you.” she soothes. “You and your father. We… we were worried about you.”  

They approach him carefully and the man keeps the barrel of his weapon pointed to the ground. His dark skin is smeared with filth, but his eyes remind the boy of his father’s, rich, deep amber.  _Warm._  The woman approaches, too, the smile lighting her round face making his heart slip back down from his throat.    

“We won’t hurt you, kid.” the man lowers himself to one knee, extending his hand. “Did your dad ever teach you how to greet someone from the old world?”

The boy shakes his head.

An instant grin touches the man’s lips, a good-natured grin that reminds the boy of his mother. “It’s easy. Let me see your hand.”

Hesitation stills the boys arm from moving. “You’re not like… the others?” he asks tentatively. 

“The others?” the man echoes.

“No.” the woman assures him, understanding the boy’s question at once. “We don’t harm for the sake of being cruel and we don’t… eat people.”

The boy looks back to the man’s hand, chin trembling, and reaches out slowly. The man takes his hand in a confident grip and begins to pump it up and down in a gentle motion. “It’s a handshake.” he clarifies, his grin widening. “I’m Finn. This is Rose,” he points to the woman. “What’s your name?”

The boy swallows, glancing back over his shoulder to the beach, then deliberately, he turns back to them, tightening his fingers around Finn’s hand. “I’m…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ME SOME FEEDBACK!  
> ** **CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOME!**  
>    
> 


	6. My Filthy Scavenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows better. There’s no point in denying it.
> 
> She’s always known better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Finally wrote some more canon Reylo smut. This definitely won't be the last. Also posted [here](https://reyloisblessed.tumblr.com/post/176927880402/title-my-filthy-scavenger-theme-thirst) at my Reylo Tumblr if your interested.
> 
>  **Rating** M  
>  **Word Count:** 3,371  
>  **World:** Canonverse  
>  **Canon Timeline:** Based after TLJ.  
>  **Warnings:** Explicit Sexual Content and Light Bondage

She knows better. There’s no point in denying it.

She’s  _always_ known better.

But she’s tired. Maybe it’s the cramped quarters aboard the Falcon, or maybe it’s the never-ending space travel, the planets she can never quite call home, Poe’s constant hounding about  _loyalty to the cause_ , or maybe it’s this damn itch between her fingers.

The truth is… it’s just been too long.  _Far too long._

Around her wrists, the binders are a reassuring weight as she approaches, the soles of her boots imprinting blurry tracks into the coarse desert sand and the eerie morning light dying the horizon a deep, erotic red. The six stormtroopers at her flanks encircle her as she comes to a halt before him, keeping her gaze carefully neutral, the fire behind her skin igniting at the very connection of his eyes. That swirling cosmos of black and gold.

She’s so close, closer than they’ve been in months.

Not since last time. Or the time before that, or the time before–

His Force signature bears down upon her like a howling abyss, swallowing her, snapping the moors of her conscious mind and sending her adrift to a world of memories. From behind him, the Knights of Ren stand as stoic as death, their detestable black helms glinting crimson and their weapons poised for attack.

Ben remains silent, staring at her with such intensity she feels the stormtroopers shrinking away in fear. The indescribable manner of his expression only heightens as the sun fully crests the horizon behind them, throwing the shadows long and casting his face in wine-colored darkness amid his windswept hair.

Rey eventually drags her eyes away, unable to look at him any longer without the kindling heat in her veins consuming her completely. She swallows, licks her lips, exhales.

This was a mistake, but this isn’t the first time she has made a mistake for Ben Solo.

At last, the stormtrooper in charge speaks, his tone wary. “She came willingly. We didn’t know what else to do with her, supreme leader.”

Ben’s gaze never leaves her. “Of course you wouldn’t. You and your squad are dismissed, lieutenant.”

“Sir?” the lieutenant begins. “The general—”

Another silences him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Rey watches the exchange with feigned interest as she feels Ben’s stare drinking in the rest of her body, his attention moving as electricity moves over her nerve-endings, sparking life into all the dark, obscure places inside her. When he arrives back to her face she can practically feel his thoughts like the gravitational weight of a star, demanding her attention.

But she can’t, not yet.

Her pulse twitters wildly at her throat as the air around her seems to thin, the static drumming of her heart drowning out the rest of the world except for him. She never dreamed she’d ever fall in love, nor had she considered the possibility that she would be loved in return. Especially by someone like him. Of all the people in the universe…

And she would have it no other way. Not then. Not now.

The stormtroopers depart and Ben immediately throws a cursory glance at his knights. They bow their heads, stepping back and allowing him to lead her to his command shuttle. She boards it quietly, minding the way his hand clasps at her bicep, not wandering. They do not exchange any words all the way back to the Supremacy with Kylo keeping a deliberate distance from her, his desire carefully disguised.

She thinks back to Takodana, wondering how Kylo Ren must have looked as he’d carried an unconscious Rey aboard his ship. To Starkiller, why no hatred had ever entered his eyes when she’d scarred him. To Ahch-to, where it had all changed…

And countless other hidden moments they shared, secreted between both the Resistance and the First Order.  _Precious moments._

Though secrets live on borrowed time–as do they all–and she has willingly just truncated their timeline. The little game that had begun between them almost two years ago after Crait was never supposed to end this way. It was never supposed to end at all.

Their unspoken commitment consists of two rules, only two: no surrender, no capture.

Her eyes stray to where he sits at his command seat and she sees it–the anger, the excitement and  _the fear_. One of them was bound to make a foolish decision sooner or later. The veiled acceptance in his expression tells her he wasn’t far from committing some similarly ludicrous act.

Thirst is a cruel thing and she should know. The desert permits no relief from the empty heat of the sun and they have both been left out in the sweltering environment of  _waiting_ for too long with not a drop of pleasure to alleviate their ache, the brutal desert winds of time etching away at their resolve.   

The loading bay is overflowing with movement, white helmets and pale, blank faces turning to her with wonder and dread as they proceed down the ramp of the shuttle, the knights creating a protective barrier between her and Ben as he sweeps ahead. She blinks at the harsh sterile lights of the  _Supremacy_ , remembering the moment her escape pod had opened–in some other distant life, eons ago–the mechanical hiss, the pain of the brightness… and his impassive face.

 _If others discover the truth what will history say about them_ , she wonders. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, the Jedi Killer, the father slayer and last living scion of Darth Vader. A monster with limitless power, a man, lonely and broken, and loved.  _Loved by the enemy._

She knows what he would say looking back on the damaged ghost story of his life.  _If nothing else, at least I was loved._

The thought makes her heart ache.  

As they arrive at the elevator, Ben turns to dismiss his knights. They linger a moment, their vacant masks assessing Rey distrustfully before disappearing down the corridor like a procession of black phantoms. Ben takes Rey’s bicep again, ushering her onto the lift as the doors begin to close. The mechanical click is deafening, the air around them building with anticipation.  

Seconds tick by while the lights fluctuate, a soft glow and flutter.

Ben shifts imperceptibly toward her direction and she swallows reflexively at the abrupt flare of his Force signature, an alluring beacon in the darkness. Closing her eyes, she draws in a meticulous and calming breath.

The last time they stood here Ben had sworn she’d stand with him. He had leaned into her, his velvet eyes slipping through her defenses like smoke, his scent smoldering around her like a burning fuse, threatening to ignite them both into a licking conflagration of flames.

_And now?_

His hand skims her back, gloved fingertips slipping under her jacket and over her tunic to curl around her side. A furtive, innocent gesture; one most would not even notice. She bows her back into his touch, allowing more of her body to connect with his forearm.

He exhales through his nostrils, a controlled rush of air.

“I’ve missed you.” she murmurs, her voice soft even to her ears.

His grip tightens as he releases another controlled exhale and she can  _feel_ the intensity of his hunger. It makes her toes curl and she presses her thighs together, surrendering a ragged breath of her own. Then his fingers are traveling up, up, up, his hand coming around as he moves closer. She bites her lower lip when she feels his thumb graze her already hardened nipple through the fabric and he stiffens, noting the lack of layers.

She had stopped wearing breast wraps months ago, struck by the sudden urge to overcome her shyness and simply let her chest sit naturally. That and she found she thoroughly loved the rough texture of various materials moving freely against her nipples.

“You shouldn’t be here.” he reprimands huskily, his large hand splaying across her chest, pressing her back and into him.

She thrills at the serrated edge of his voice, melting into his hold as his forearm traps her against him, the solid feel of his taut muscles awakening every nerve-ending in her body. “No.” Her answer turns to a breathless moan as he pinches punishingly at her breast, sending the sensation straight to her core. She crushes her thighs together. “And I should be going to a prison cell,  _supreme leader_.”

He growls into her hair, her use of his title in such a dark, earthy tone rendering him a lecherous animal, all signs of his earlier restraint evaporating in an instant and she smirks. _There you are._ He snakes his other arm around her waist, wasting no time journeying his hand down between her legs. She knows he can feel her heat through the fabric of her leggings, knows he’s getting painfully hard just thinking of how wet she is.

“What are you doing here, Rey?” Her name falls, a ragged syllable from his lips and she pushes back into him, relishing the solid feel of his erection. “This was foolish. Dangerous.”

“And this wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” she whispers, taking her cuffed hands and guiding his beneath the hem of her pants.

His other hand at her breast slides under her top and she lulls her head back as she feels his gloved fingers stimulating both of her nipples, then the one below teasing her clit. She mewls contentedly as his index and middle finger glide along her folds while his thumb and index finger above pinch to the point of tenderness.

They had turned it into a sort of game, seeing how long he could last before he simply had to remove his gloves. He had surprised her more than once, but this standard day reveals a man at the end of his rope; and to accentuate his desperation he tattoos her neck with his teeth. She cries out, squeezing his wrist in a vice grip as she urges him to relieve the ache between her thighs, but he refrains.

 _Not yet_ , his mind chides.

 _Now!_ she commands, craning her head around and glaring at him.

“Should I stop the elevator? Take you right here?” he asks, enunciating the word ‘here’ with his index finger circling her clit and applying a very pointed pressure.

Her thigh muscles twitch and quiver. “You could take me on the bridge right in front of general Hux for all I care.” she snarls provocatively.

The boldness of her statement leaves him speechless, his plush lips falling open and the cimmerian abyss of his eyes deepening, beckoning her further and further down. Slowly, he removes his hand from beneath her blouse and reaches forward, pressing the emergency override on the elevator control panel. The lift hums to a gentle halt.

Rey turns, wasting not time draping her arms over his neck and yanking him forward. His mouth crashes into hers and she hastily seizes his lower lip, leaving him no room for escape. He moans, an uneven pulse of sound that quickens the ache between her legs, enticing more wetness, more heat, and she curls into him, wanting no more separation between them.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” he pants as she releases him.

She pulls him down to her mouth again, letting that be answer enough. The wrist binds make it impossible to plunge her hands into his hair and scrape her nails viciously along his scalp, but it’s irrelevant. She’s tired, tired of fighting, of running, of  _hiding_.

 _You’re tired, too._  She whispers.  _But you’re so stubborn…_

He jerks her hips into him and shoves her flush against the wall–his answer, obviously.  _Always so dramatic._

With one swift movement, she fastens her legs securely around his waist and he releases a throaty chuckle, his tongue quickly darting out and claiming her mouth in that dark, familiar way she adores. It drugs her, dares her, coaxing her to the edge of that perfect precipice, edged in brilliance and draped in profound sensation.

She’s already  _so_ close…

… and he’s unhooking her legs from his middle, settling her feet to the floor and sliding her pants down her thighs. Gooseflesh blankets her exposed skin and she shivers, mashing her body as close to him as she can. He places a hand on her inner thigh, rubbing the slick of her arousal slowly back up through the folds of her sex and she pulls away, mewling in protest.

His eyes are hooded, almost lazy, save for the blazing animal fever within them, and this is always his favorite part of their intimacy–her impatience; an impatience so desperately on the verge of petulance that it always makes him grin from ear-to-ear. And she would punish him if his face didn’t always look so beautiful in those moments.  

_Like now._

“Monster.” she grumbles.

His gaze drifts to her lips and he applies welcoming pressure to her clit. “Yes.”

She shoots forward abruptly, latching her teeth onto his neck and sucking brutally. _Enough foreplay._

He gets the message, loud and clear, and then he’s putting only enough distance between them to unbutton his pants, he’s lifting up her tunic to expose her breasts and he’s suckling. First one breast, then the other: teeth and tongue, swipe, suckle, teeth, tongue,  _bite_.  

Rey throws her head back, forgetting her surroundings and banging her skull against the durasteel wall. The pain dimly registers next to the raging onslaught her lover weighs upon her body and she moans a feeble curse before he suddenly whirls her around, pinning her bound wrists above her head and grinding her into the wall.

The sensation of the cold steel on her nipples, the delightful caress of his cock between her thighs, his excited breath panting over her shoulder–she can’t take it anymore. She bows forward, pressing her ass into him and bending her legs, beginning to lower herself to the floor. He follows her obediently, draping his body over her as he settles on his knees and kisses the back of her head, nuzzling her with his nose in a quiet moment of fondness. She sighs blissfully, angling the top of her body further down to the floor and spreading her legs, opening herself for him. 

The wait had driven her so close to madness these long, empty months. She’d never thought a thing possible, to desire the sensation of being filled, stretched, driven into a haunted frenzy of desperation, ready and willing to break, to shatter into a thousand pleasure-stricken pieces, yet here she is.

She jolts at the unexpected sensation of his bare fingers sweeping along her thighs, the Force vibrating pleasurably, heightening as his touch curves around to tease her entrance. He uses his other hand to run tip of his cock rhythmically up and down her sex, tapping as he reaches her clit, then repeating again.  

It’s beautiful, frustrating, damning–

_It’s pure torture._

“Ben!” she snarls, her voice too low, too primal. She scarcely recognizes herself in these moments, but it doesn’t frighten her anymore.

He leans forward, nibbling a delicious trail up her neck to the sensitive spot below her ear and bites,  _hard_. At the same time, he nudges the head of his shaft at her entrance, but only just.  ****“I enjoy you like this.” he breathes against her ear. “Wet and open for me.”

She whines impatiently and shoves her lower half into him, attempting to get him closer, deeper, yet his hands still her hips. 

“You changed everything.” his voice goes ragged. “You ruined me, Rey.” 

Her core pulses at the words and she forces her cheek into the cold floor, any ounce of pride she might have carried evaporating completely. His confession works its way deep into her skin, settling in her bones like the warmth of fire and she turns her head, pressing her other cheek against the floor, the chilliness of the metal anchoring her.

From above Ben loosens her hair, letting it feather around her shoulders and down her back in lengthy waves. He doesn’t say, but she knows he likes it, likes to curl the locks around his fingers and breathe her in, adores it when she is on top and fucking him into oblivion, her honeyed tresses blocking out the world around them.  

Lifting up onto her hands, the metal binders pinching slightly at her wrists, she tilts her chin over her shoulder and latches onto his stare. His half-lidded eyes glitter, his expression exultant as he takes her hips and presses forward. Her mouth falls open, a gasp escaping her at the sensation of being filled, her walls stretching, pulsing, but her eyes never leave his.

He is the first to break contact, his eyes rolling back and a groan rumbling up from his chest in that dark, primal way that makes her quiver. Her breath hitches and she bows forward again, angling her hips as wide as her body will allow, her spine coiled low and her nipples brushing the floor. The collusion of hard cold and stretching heat leaves her grasping uselessly for purchase at the metal, but she only succeeds in painfully scraping her binders.

After allowing her body a moment to adjust, he begins slowly, relishing the slick feel of their bodies as he pumps: in and out, in and out, in… out.

She moans through her teeth as she bites down on her lip, sliding her breasts roughly against the floor, her tunic riding uncomfortably under her arms, but such things are irrelevent. Nothing else matters, only this building crescendo.

Ben changes his tempo temporarily, drawing back to thrust shallowly, once, twice, three times; then, diving deep, sheathing himself to the hilt inside her and the acute strain sparks through her bliss, flaring it to new heights. She cries out, clawing at the floor.

His pace quickens, riding into her sound with delirious enthusiasm and she throws another glance over her shoulder, watching him. She could do this forever–drink in that godly expression, that wild black hair, that taut jaw, those muscles along that throat drawn tight, begging for her to sink her own teeth in, to  _mark_ him.

His mind hears her and he instantly finds her prying eyes, the animal gleam within his own swirling, cresting on the verge of chaos. Insanity. This is what she does to him. She smiles lecherously, plunging further into him. Soon enough, she cannot tell where he begins and she ends.  _Beautiful._   

_All mine._

Her body thrills at the echo of his own thoughts and her head lulls back, remembering all the secret moments between them, committing this new one to memory as the Force coalesces, building and  _building_.

His thrusts grow erratic and savage, the slap of their flesh saturating the elevator with the lewd melody of their love-making and she grins. Snoke had been a fool, an arrogant fool. A filthy part of her wonders what his expression would have been had the elevator doors opened at this exact moment. She licks her lips at the thought and Ben groans from behind her.

“ _Kriff_ Rey!” His tone grates with unhinged desire. _Filthy little scavenger_ , his mind growls.  _My filthy, filthy little scavenger!_

Her body curls as the orgasm hits, drawing a scream from her mouth she never thought possible and Ben kneels forward, pressing her almost completely into the floor and his jagged snarl tingling over her neck as he spills into her, his cock pulsing with each release. 

They lie there for a long time afterward, panting and shivering, Ben’s rapid heartbeat thundering against her back and her own twittering fiercely behind her ribs. The Force hums, content as they come down from their euphoria.

Rey rubs her forehead into the cool metal until her breathing levels out. It takes her a moment to realize Ben has lifted up on his hands. His breath ghosts along her spine as he whispers a string of indistinct words between her shoulder blades.

She strains to look around and he smiles the second their eyes meet, his hand coming up to wipe a wayward strand of hair from her face. “Hi.” he says.

“Hello.” she answers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE SOME FEEDBACK!  
> ** **CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOME!**  
>    
> 


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